The Saga of Robert Stolz
by Ervin Leimbach
Summary: Before Price, Soap, Ghost or any other member of the elite Task Force 141, there was Stolz


Death had always been the unacknowledged inevitability which I consciously reserved for the darkest unchecked parts of my inner being. His presence followed me every day of my adult life, like a shadow. I forgot him on occasion and would wake up in night terrors remembering the mortal truth that at any given moment my life could be taken away from me and I would have to stand before whatever God is waiting for me and atone for all that I have done. I would envision hell, and with a gasping breath kick the sheets from my body until I realized I was still alive. Of course this would only occur every now and then. There was a period where it happened every night, the realization of my own mortality, but now I try to acknowledge death at least once every day. I find it helps. I have been fortunate enough to evade death, that is, in the sense of loss. Maybe, that's why I'm so cynical. I hate the phrase "passed away". When someone dies, he dies. My great grandfather never passed away. In physical terms, his heart stopped beating one night while he was sleeping. He died. My brothers never passed away either. When the bullet entered the skull of Sergeant O' Donnel, the soft tip of the hot round burst open like a spiraling rose entangling, cutting, and pulling his brain matter with it as it exited the other side. The bullet passed, perhaps his life passed before his eyes, but O'Donnel died. As the shrapnel of an improvised explosion device sent hot metal through the side of Sergeant Gantz causing his organs to burst from through his skin and drop from his flak jacket, he died too. Hell, I could go on. Death was manifested from shadows to the shells of human bodies which were mangled, dismembered, destroyed in every way possible on a daily basis, and that was just on our side. But the most I ever saw of death in all his awful power was anytime I was in the presence of Robert Stolz. Stolz was, and will always be a complete mystery. I am the man he chose to speak to; I am the man who saw him for what he truly was. The same kind of death that took my brothers' at arms lives away was the same kind of death Stolz imposed on any man who he was destined to bring it upon. I recall his manner in battle, a spectacle for both sides. He was always the first to charge in and he always finished what he started. The enemies who took his merciful shot, always clean, precise and quick, were the favored ones. I remember the first time I saw him in battle. We heard gunshots and he ran. As he ran, all fury and hell followed him. His rifle, like an extension of himself never ceased to punch one hole in the head and two in the chest of any man firing at him. He charged firing, systematically changing magazines when he was out, until twenty men around him lay with sixty collective deadly holes. His gun now useless was dropped simultaneously as he unsheathed his dagger. One swift nick to the throat and the enemy's life substance spewed a crimson of red down his vest. With the man down he kicked down his next opponent and quickly thrust his blade into the man's heart halting it completely. Four more enemies quickly fired several rounds at him but every bullet was evaded, every shot missed its intended target hitting a wall, the ground or a bystander. Quickly he punched one man with such wrath that the man's face seemed to cave in and blood gushed out. The man fell back with no outward nose but rather a void in the middle of his face. Stolz grabbed his rifle all while dodging bullets, slung around and fired upon the remaining three splattering their blood until nothing was left of their bodies but red flesh and green uniform. When their comrades saw this, they immediately took off running leaving the dead behind. Stolz pursued them and managed to throw a grenade with great precision just ahead of a group that was fleeing. It exploded in the middle as they were running dismembering two and sending fragments of hot metal into the faces and arms of the others. One continued to run as his back drizzled blood under his jacket. Stolz caught up to him and toppled him with a front kick. The grounded enemy started to crawl until Stolz brought his heavy boot upon his head cracking his skull and spewing pink brain from the shattered remains of what was his head. Stolz turned around, the fury diminishing but still in his eye breathing heavily. He looked right at me, I could see the fire, the rage, the blind hatred in his eyes and for a second I feared for my own life. The air was still disturbed with dust and fire and when it settled seconds later and the brotherhood realized what Stolz had just done every man let out a battle cry and began whooping, cheering, and screaming Stolz's name. I remained silent. Stolz took a look around, wiped blood off his face, returned his knife to its sheath and found his gun. He was entirely silent as he walked towards me. His lips parted and in his low subtle but authoritative voice he said, "The enemy took off to the north. I suggest we find them soon and finish this battle." That was the first time I heard anything come from this man who many brothers still think may be a god. My name is Dane. These events and testimonies of the actions and interactions with Robert Stolz are from my account.


End file.
